


Spirit Is Something That No One Destroys

by mysticanni



Series: Heart of Glass [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Theft, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 10:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: A look at Roger and Crystal's developing relationship.Also, some maracas are stolen but Crystal and Roger couldn't possibly comment on that.





	Spirit Is Something That No One Destroys

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This takes a closer look at the bad day Crystal had in 'Heart of Glass'. It covers some of the same ground as 'Heart of Glass' sometimes from Roger's point of view. 
> 
> I don't think you would actually need to have read 'Heart of Glass' first. 
> 
> Please read the warnings/tags carefully and avoid if you think anything might upset you. 
> 
> Title is from 'The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys' by Traffic.

At first, when Ratty had become ill, Crystal had welcomed the chance to travel in one of the equipment trucks as Ratty normally did, rather than in the tour bus with the band. It gave him some (much needed) distance from Roger. Relations had been strained between them since the incident with the maracas.

  
They had been playing two days running in a vast draughty venue somewhere in the American mid-west (Crystal had rather lost track; it had all started to look the same). On the first night Crystal had found Roger lurking in the wings hungrily watching the support act. Crystal thought the support act were poor and was surprised Roger seemed so enamoured. ‘D’you like them?’ he wondered.

  
Roger looked scornful. ‘No, they’re shit, but they have maracas that have been focussed by a shaman.’

  
Crystal’s immediate reaction was to place his hand against Roger’s forehead to check his temperature. He must be feverish. Could he have sustained a head injury without Crystal knowing? Roger seemed okay, though, so perhaps Crystal had misheard? ‘A shaman?’

  
‘They use them for divination or something,’ Roger replied, as if this made everything clear. ‘They used to put human hair on them, give them faces. Shamans used them. These are really nice leather and wood ones too. I want them.’

  
Roger had an expression on his face that Crystal knew well and feared. ‘D’you want me to ask how much money they would want for them?’

  
‘They won’t sell them!’ Roger scoffed. ‘No,’ he shook his head emphatically, ‘we’ll have to steal them.’

  
‘You want us,’ Crystal had noted the ‘we’ there, ‘to steal maracas?’

  
‘Specifically the maracas belonging to that band,’ Roger indicated the support act, ‘yes.’

  
Crystal groaned. ‘I’m pretty sure we could buy maracas?’

  
Roger snorted. ‘Apparently we can barely afford to buy me new drumsticks if I break one. Do you really think we would be allowed to buy maracas? Anyway, I want the ones the shaman has used.’

  
Crystal wondered what penalty the state they were in imposed for theft. Knowing his luck some ancient law would decree that the theft of maracas was punishable by death. He envisioned himself strapped to an electric chair. He knew he would sacrifice himself to save Roger, if it came to it: his crush on Roger really was that pathetic.

  
‘I am not getting a criminal record for stealing fucking maracas, Roger!’

  
Roger patted his arm. ‘You’ll just need to make sure we don’t get caught, then, won’t you?’

He flashed Crystal a dazzling smile. ‘We’ll have to do it tonight while the equipment is stashed here ready for the show tomorrow.’

  
‘Oh well, I can’t, then, I’m washing my hair tonight.’

  
Roger looked hurt. ‘A true friend would help.’

  
‘I’m an employee,’ Crystal pointed out.

  
‘A good employee would do anything for their boss,’ Roger told him.

  
Crystal snorted. ‘A decent boss wouldn’t ask their employee to engage in criminal activity.’

  
Roger looked mournfully at the stage where the drummer was madly waving the coveted maracas. ‘He’s murdering them,’ Roger intoned, ‘I’d treat them with respect.’

  
Crystal inwardly agreed that, well, murdering was maybe a little over the top, but still... The support act’s drummer was rubbish. The drums didn’t sound as if they had ever been tuned. He didn’t deserve the apparently mystical maracas. It was that, Crystal thought later, that had prompted him to say, ‘Oh, okay then count me in.’

  
Roger’s face had lit up. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Crys!’

*

  
Roger’s chosen outfit for theft was a pair of sinfully tight jeans, a multi-coloured sequined top, high-heeled boots and his fur coat. Crystal was dressed entirely in black. He was already regretting agreeing to participate in this idiotic and probably doomed venture. ‘That’s what you’re wearing?’

  
Roger eyed Crystal, shrugging, ‘I don’t have a burglary outfit, unlike some.’

  
Crystal sighed. ‘That coat is so distinctive...’

  
‘Thank you.’

  
‘...if we are spotted you will be easily identified.’

  
‘Who is gonna see us?’ Roger demanded. ‘It’s a snowy night in... Where are we? Anyway, no one is gonna be out and about!’

  
Crystal hoped he was right.

  
*

  
Crystal had a key to the venue and the storage room which made breaking and entering a lot more like plain entering. Even so, he wondered uneasily if every key-holder would be questioned when the theft was discovered. Then he reminded himself they were stealing maracas and that it was hardly the crime of the century.

  
Once inside the storage room, Crystal turned on the torch he had brought. Roger headed for a chest in the corner of the cavernous room farthest from the door, as if he had some kind of maraca-radar. The chest was locked. Undeterred, Roger produced a hair-pin and began to jiggle it in the lock.

  
Crystal wondered what had possessed him to take part in this madness. He thought of his cousin Charlie, currently losing a long and painful battle with cancer in a hospital bed in London and felt a wave of self-loathing. He should be saying prayers for Charlie to a God he didn’t believe in. He should be calling his mother to comfort her. Charlie’s mother had died giving birth to him. Charlie had consequently spent a lot of time with Crystal and his mother. He was like a brother to Crystal; like a son to his Crystal’s mother, who was devastated by his illness. Crystal should be doing something better, more meaningful, than helping Roger steal fucking maracas.

  
A loud click snapped him out of this dark train of thought and he realised that Roger had succeeded in picking the lock (and Crystal didn’t want to know where he had learned to do that) and had opened the chest. Crystal shone the torch into the chest. There were tambourines, bells, triangles, chimes and all sorts of other percussion instruments piled higgledy-piggledy in the chest. They should have cases or wrappings, Crystal thought disapprovingly. These people really did not deserve these instruments.

  
Roger began to sift though the contents of the chest. ‘Fucks sake, Rog!’ Crystal hissed. ‘Could you make any more fucking noise?’ He realised he had not really thought through the whole ‘stealing noisy percussion instruments’ thing. ‘Will the fucking maracas be in a fucking case?’ Nothing else was, though, so he was not going to hold his breath.

  
‘Ooh!’ Roger was delightedly examining and – playing – because of course he was fucking playing the fucking thing fucking loudly – a vibraslap. He set the vibraslap back in the chest and triumphantly produced the maracas. ‘A-ha!’

  
Crystal felt another wave of self-loathing. While his cousin died he was stealing items that looked more like children’s toys than serious musical instruments. ‘Did you bring something to wrap the maracas in to muffle the sound?’ Crystal ground out through gritted teeth. He didn’t even know why he was asking, because of course Roger hadn’t. 

  
They both froze as a door clanged somewhere nearby. Then they heard muffled voices in the corridor.

  
Roger shoved the maracas into the pocket of his fur coat, which Crystal had to grudgingly admit muffled the sound well. Crystal pulled Roger right into the corner behind a filing cabinet. He turned off the torch.

  
‘I’m sure I heard something,’ a woman’s voice said, sounding anxious.

  
‘Odd,’ a man said, ‘this door’s been left open. Still, lucky for us, eh, Alison?’

  
‘I don’t see why we couldn’t just get a motel room, Stanley,’ the woman, presumably Alison, whined.

  
Crystal sighed. This was just brilliant, wasn’t it? Now they would have to wait for love’s young dream to fuck before they could make their escape, all because Stanley wasn’t prepared to pay for a room. He thought there was a Stanley on the local crew who worked at the venue, a gangly spotty youth.

  
Alison squealed. ‘Ooh, Stan that tickles!’

  
She began to giggle and, to Crystal’s horror, so did Roger. ‘Shut up!’ Crystal hissed urgently into Roger’s ear. Roger pressed his face against Crystal’s shoulder in an attempt to muffle his giggles. He wrapped his arms around Crystal’s waist. Crystal automatically slid his arms around Roger and pulled him closer. He could feel Roger’s hair tickling his face. He could feel Roger shaking with laughter. Roger was very close and Crystal’s cock was stirring, now that Crystal had his arms full of the being he lusted after.

  
Fortunately, Alison was making no effort to be quiet. They could hear her encouraging Stanley. ‘Come on, baby, oh yes! Yes! Oh! Harder...’

  
Roger’s giggles were infectious and Crystal could feel his own lips twitching. He buried his face in Roger’s furry shoulder and tried to think of something sad. He didn’t have to think too hard; he remembered Charlie, dying, probably in pain, in hospital while Crystal was engaged in this absurd activity.

  
Stanley began to grunt and Roger yelped into Crystal’s shoulder. ‘Ssh!’ Crystal whispered into Roger’s ear. It felt very intimate. Then Alison screamed and they both flinched.

  
‘Oh! Sandra!’ Stanley exclaimed.

  
Roger made a little mewling noise which was luckily drowned out by Alison’s screech of, ‘Who the fuck is Sandra, Stanley?’

  
‘Alison! I can explain!’

  
They heard a slap. Crystal suspected Stanley would be unable to explain to Alison’s satisfaction. ‘You pig!’ she howled.

  
‘Alison!’

  
They heard footsteps heading towards the door. Crystal guessed Alison had stormed out and Stanley was trailing after her. He reluctantly released Roger as their footsteps and voices receded.

  
He turned the torch back on. Roger was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. He grinned at Crystal. ‘Entertainment!’

  
‘We almost got caught,’ Crystal pointed out. All of his earlier irritation returned. He had allowed himself to become involved in a criminal act (albeit a minor one) because he adored Roger. This had to stop. He felt utterly pathetic.

  
‘Shine the torch on the chest again, please,’ Roger requested, ‘I’m taking the vibraslap too!’

  
*

  
Back at the hotel Roger looked up at Crystal. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ he said solemnly. ‘I have a bottle of vodka in my room if you would care for a night-cap? Its good stuff, I stole it from Fred.’

  
Crystal’s frustration and irritation boiled over. ‘That’s just you all over, isn’t it? You take and take and take! Well, I’ve given enough! Don’t involve me in any of your foolish escapades again!’ Crystal jammed his hand over Roger’s mouth as he opened it to respond. ‘Don’t!’ he barked, ‘I don’t wanna hear it!’

  
The flash of fear in Roger’s eyes and the hurt and bewilderment on his face caused one of the jagged splinters of glass residing in Crystal’s chest, masquerading as a heart, to stab him. Wounded, he rapidly walked away. I cannot, he thought. He was unsure what he could not do. He could not continue to love Roger. He could not stop loving Roger.

  
*

  
So, when Ratty first became ill, Crystal welcomed the chance to put some distance between him and Roger. He told himself he needed breathing space.

  
The first day had started out fine. The truck driver had been feeling unwell so Crystal had been left alone with his thoughts.

  
He had thought of his cousin Charlie. When they stopped for lunch he used the truck stop pay-phone to call his mother and discovered Charlie could die at any moment. Ted, the truck driver, had asked why he was upset and had been kind when Crystal had explained. ‘He’s been ill for a while,’ Crystal had said, ‘and I said goodbye before we left on tour. I knew I wouldn’t see him again, but that doesn’t make it any easier.’

  
Charlie had played the guitar and Crystal had been the drummer in the band they’d formed as teenagers. Then Charlie had become a respectable accountant, to the delight of Crystal’s mother, and Crystal had become a roadie.

  
He’d met Charlie once in a bar near where Charlie worked. It was a bit too posh for Crystal and with eye-watering prices. Crystal had felt out of place in his old jeans and t-shirt. Charlie had looked right at home in a smart three-piece suit. Yet Charlie was the same as ever: quiet, calm, good at listening. So Crystal had confided in him about his crush on Roger.

  
‘You’re in love,’ Charlie had told him and Crystal had shaken his head.

  
‘A silly crush, that’s all.’

  
‘Are you gonna act on it, Chrissie?’ Charlie had asked, sipping his pint.

  
‘Don’t call me that. No.’ Crystal had stared into his own glass, as if the liquid in it would reveal something to him. ‘I can’t, can I? He’s my boss.’

  
‘Probably for the best,’ Charlie had agreed. ‘It has the potential to be seriously awkward.’

  
*

  
The second day of Ratty’s illness was hell. By then, Ted the truck driver had ‘flu’ too, although he was still grimly driving the truck. The phone call from his mother with the news of Charlie’s death had come in the middle of the night. Crystal had not been asleep anyway; had spent the night crying and tossing and turning. When the truck spluttered to an unexpected halt Crystal and Ted had started dejectedly at each other.

  
Ratty would have known what to do, Crystal reflected wearily. Hell, Ratty could probably have fixed the bloody truck that was one of the reasons he usually travelled in one of the damn things. Crystal felt inadequate and exhausted and wanted to cry. Ted wheezed that there was a list of useful phone numbers in the little notebook in the glove compartment and Crystal had tiredly retrieved this and trudged off in search of a pay-phone he could use to summon assistance.

  
A mechanic had been able to get them back on the road but only after a considerable delay. That had led to a very truncated sound-check at the venue and the show had been a mess of exploding lights, out of tune guitars, malfunctioning monitors and Freddie apparently being unhappy with the sound of the piano. Roger had broken two drumsticks and had needed the bass drum pedal changed.

  
Crystal was exhausted and emotional. Brian had lectured him before the show about how unacceptable his lateness had been. Roger had told Brian to shut up. ‘It’s not Crystal’s fault the truck broke down, Brimi, give him a break!’ Crystal had been absurdly grateful, trying to convince himself this was due to tiredness.

  
Roger had also helped as much as he could, usefully roping people into carrying out tasks Crystal simply didn’t have the time for. Crystal loved him for that, in addition to all the other things he loved about Roger.

  
And in theory it should not matter which assistant escorted which band member backstage after a performance, it was just that Crystal almost always escorted Roger. Now, watching Phoebe tenderly help Roger down the steps from the stage Crystal thought his heart (that glittering fragile lump of glass at his core) might break beyond repair.

  
Roger appeared dazed and Crystal always loved this sleepy Roger, so different to the adrenaline fuelled whirlwind that usually bounced off the stage. Crystal loved both versions, all versions, of Roger, of course.

  
But everything that could possibly have gone wrong that day had gone wrong and so Phoebe got to cuddle Roger and Crystal got to start investigating why so many things had failed during the show. He gave Phoebe and Roger one last jealous glance and turned to get on with it.

  
*

  
Roger was floating. Everyone loved him. At least, he could pretend everyone loved him. He could bask in that illusion. He could even, for a few moments, fool himself into believing that Crystal loved him. Crystal, whose love was the only love he wanted, really. It sometimes happened this way, when he felt as if he were drifting dreamily, borne on by the cheers and adulation of the crowd and the euphoria bubbling inside of him. Everyone loved him. Why should they not?

  
There were so many reasons why not.

  
A warm dressing-gown was wrapped around him (and that was new, Crystal did not normally bother to heat his wrap). He looked up, smiling, expecting to find Crystal’s warm eyes and discovered Phoebe instead. He felt a small stab of disappointment: this moment of his day, when Crystal fussed over him, was one of his favourites.

  
Still, it had been a shitty day for Crystal and he was likely needed elsewhere. Phoebe fussed excellently (and Roger would have to remember to tease Crystal about Phoebe’s superior service with the heated robe) and there was the added bonus that Phoebe was not currently giving him a lecture about how much easier the stairs would be to negotiate if he would wear his glasses, as Crystal would almost certainly have been telling him.

  
Roger did not have a crush on Phoebe, though. A silly, childish crush, he berated himself as Phoebe held him a little closer and urged him to be careful on the steps. Crystal was competent and practical and thought Roger was a pampered fool. He wouldn’t look twice at Roger with his squeaky voice and girlish looks, which were perhaps why Phoebe was pandering to him as if he were an infant in need of a heated towel after his bath. Crystal would expect him to man up and brave the cold and perhaps he wouldn’t mention the heated gown to Crystal after all... It was nice, though, he had to admit. He’d felt cold all day and he was grateful for it.

  
He was jolted out of this reverie when Freddie barked out, ‘Crystal!’

  
Roger looked up. They were almost at the dressing-room. Crystal looked as if he had been heading back towards the stage. He had frozen in place. The corridor was packed with members of the crew but there was a wide circle of space around Crystal.

  
‘Really, darling, you’re a useless cunt, aren’t you? Why was everything such a fucking mess tonight? Why am I paying for this level of incompetence?’ Freddie snapped.

  
‘I’m sorry,’ Crystal said, meeting Freddie’s eyes. Freddie nodded curtly and swept on.

  
Phoebe gently steered Roger onwards. Roger looked back over his shoulder at Crystal. ‘Poor Crystal,’ Phoebe sighed, ‘he’s had such a bad day and all on top of tragic news from home, too.’

  
‘What’s happened?’ Roger asked.

  
‘His cousin died. The call came through last night,’ Phoebe informed him. ‘I was down at reception because the heating in Freddie’s room wasn’t working properly and the lady at the desk was ever so lovely and she had gone to sort it all out when the phone rang. So I answered it and it was Mrs. Taylor. She told me that Crystal’s cousin had died. They were very close, apparently, like brothers. She was terribly upset, poor dear.’

  
‘Charlie,’ Roger murmured. ‘He said he’d been ill.’ Roger frowned. Crystal had not said Charlie was dying. Had it been too hard to talk about? Or had he been a poor friend to Crystal? Not a good enough listener. Not asking the right questions.

  
Or perhaps Crystal simply saw Roger as his silly, vain, irritating boss. Roger had recently seen a magazine interview that described him as ‘dainty’. No one needed a dainty friend (and certainly not a dainty lover).

  
*

  
Crystal blinked back tears, striding towards the stage. Freddie’s words had hurt. It had hurt even more that he had said all that in front of pretty much the whole crew, in front of Roger.

  
He flinched as the one of the sound tech’s patted his back. ‘Thanks, Crys. We owe you.’ Crystal nodded, unable to speak, and waved his hand to indicate that Freddie’s verbal assault had been nothing. And he knew that none of the many things that had gone wrong were actually his fault and he had done his best to fix things but he still felt a failure. Freddie’s words stung.

  
He consoled himself with the thought that at least they were staying put for a few days in the hotel. The band had interviews and publicity shots scheduled for the next day and had a day off after that. Crystal could get someone to have a good look at the equipment truck that had broken down earlier. It should also give Ratty time to recover from the nasty ‘flu’ he was laid low with.

  
He reflected that most of the other issues they had experienced were due to the rushed sound-check because of the late arrival of the truck that had broken down. It would all work out fine next time, he thought. It was all fixable, apart from Charlie.

  
At the thought of Charlie he felt tears well in his eyes again as he crouched by the drum kit to begin dismantling it. He must not think about Charlie. He had to do his job and he could not function if he was sobbing like a child. Keeping busy was the key.

  
*

  
Roger stood under the hot water in the shower enjoying the warmth. His own hotel room had also been freezing the night before and he was rather jealous of Freddie who had Phoebe sorting that out for him rather than shivering under all the blankets he could find and all the coats and clothing he could pile on the bed. He hadn’t warmed up all day and he hoped the hotel they were staying in tonight, for the next few nights, he thought, had a better heating system.

  
‘Hurry up, blondie!’ Freddie yelled. ‘We’re going out!’

  
*

  
They saw Crystal as they were leaving. Roger reached out and clasped Crystal’s wrist. ‘We’re going to... Where are we going, Deaks?’

‘A place called Daisy’s Bar,’ John replied. ‘Are you coming, Crystal?’

  
Crystal shook his head. ‘I could use an early night. Thanks, though.’

  
*

  
At the hotel Crystal went to check on Ratty first. He had left him on the tour bus in the dubious care of one of the junior members of the crew. The kid was still there and judging by the glass of water on the bedside table he had been at least attempting to follow Crystal’s instructions to make sure Ratty drank plenty of water. ‘Hey, mate, are you still alive then?’  
Ratty groaned. Crystal sat on the edge of the bed. He placed the back of his hand against Ratty’s forehead, which was hot. ‘Have you been giving him those pills?’ he asked the boy, who nodded.

  
‘And water,’ the boy added.

  
‘Okay.’ It was a twin room. ‘You gonna bunk down in here tonight? Keep an eye on him?’ The boy nodded. ‘Good. Thanks. Come and find me if you need anything.’

  
He returned to reception to check-in himself, which was when the final catastrophe of the day occurred. ‘We do not have a booking in your name, sir.’ She frowned. ‘Did we have a cancellation...?’ she murmured. ‘No, definitely no room booked for you, I’m afraid,’ she concluded more decisively.

  
‘What? No, there must be some mistake.’

  
But to round off a day of high emotions and hideous errors; disappointments and disasters, it seemed there was now, literally, no room for Crystal. The hotel was fully booked, apparently, so he could not book a room now. It felt like too much. For a horrible moment he thought he might burst into tears at the reception desk.

  
*

  
Roger took a cautious sip of the lurid green cocktail. He made a face. ‘It’s like medicine,’ he shuddered.

  
‘It must be good for you then, darling,’ Freddie said.

  
Roger pointed his cocktail umbrella accusingly at Freddie. ‘You know, Fred, you were bloody harsh to Crys earlier.’

  
‘You didn’t intervene at the time, dear,’ Freddie noted, ‘and he fucked up, darling.’

  
Roger flushed, because no, he had not intervened at the time and he should have done. He was a failure as boss and a friend and a human being, he chastised himself. ‘No he didn’t fuck up, Freddie. If it hadn’t been for Crystal we would have had to cancel the show.’

  
‘Well, one could argue that the whole debacle was caused by a lack of preventative maintenance checks on the vehicles,’ Brian noted.

  
‘That isn’t remotely related to Crystal’s job!’ Roger cried impatiently. ‘He worked hard for us today and you, Freddie,’ Roger jabbed the cocktail umbrella towards Freddie, ‘you were really unkind to him in front of everyone!’ Roger drained his glass and shuddered. ‘And his cousin just died too!’

  
‘Well,’ Freddie sipped his own cocktail, ‘oh, that is foul, Roggie, you might have warned me! Like cough mixture!’ He made a face. ‘How was I to know Crystal has been bereaved, dear?’

  
‘It was Phoebe who told me,’ Roger admitted, slightly reluctantly as he normally knew all news first.

  
Freddie gasped. ‘Phoebe!’ he bawled. Phoebe hurried over. ‘Have you been withholding news, dear?’

  
Phoebe looked anxious. ‘I would never, Freddie!’

  
‘Why, then, is Rog telling me that Crystal has had bad news?’ Freddie demanded.

  
Phoebe looked reproachfully at Roger. ‘I am not supposed to know!’

  
Freddie looked outraged. ‘Phoebe, I always especially want to know the news you find out illicitly!’

  
*

  
Following his near breakdown at the reception desk Crystal realised that he could simply invade someone else’s room, sleeping on a chair, or a sofa, or, if he was really lucky a spare bed. Or, if he was unlucky, which certainly seemed to be the pattern for the day, he could sleep on the floor.

  
Asking someone if he could have a space in their room was going to be humiliating, though, and he didn’t think he could face that yet. He decided that he had earned a drink and dragged his suitcase to the deserted hotel bar. The man polishing glasses behind the bar looked up and smiled. ‘What can I get you, sir?’

  
The prices were outrageous which explained why the place was empty. Crystal charged his drink to Roger’s room, safe in the knowledge that Roger never queried a bill when checking out. Crystal wasn’t sure if Roger assumed he must have forgotten requesting the items he had been charged for or simply couldn’t be bothered to argue. Either way, it had come in handy more than once.

  
He retreated with his drink to the darkest corner of the bar where he could feel sorry for himself in peace.

  
*

  
‘The hotel seems nicer than the previous one,’ Brian said, ‘maybe because we are staying for a few nights this time.’

  
Roger noted that Brian seemed to be drinking water and gloomily reflected that he should switch to that. The bright red cocktail tasted no better than the green one. Then he registered what Brian had said: this was the hotel they were staying in for two, or was it three, nights.

  
This was the hotel he had contacted to cancel Crystal’s room reservation.

  
Fuck.

  
Shit.

  
He was a terrible person.

  
He told himself that he had no way of knowing that his cancellation of Crystal’s room would coincide with Crystal’s cousin dying and Crystal having a bad day at work.

  
Or with Roger being so woolly headed that he had completely forgotten that he had cancelled the room.

  
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and gulped down the last of the red cocktail. He had intended to swoop in heroically and rescue Crystal. Made a mess of the bookings, Crystal? Don’t worry, you can share my room.

  
He was not quite acknowledging that part of him had hoped that if Crystal was sharing a room with him for a few days Something Might Happen. Love might blossom. Roger was not acknowledging that to himself because another part of him feared Nothing Would Ever Happen and also that he was simply not good enough for Crystal, who wouldn’t look at him twice.

  
Having engineered a situation where Crystal would be forced to be in close proximity to him for a few days Roger had now completely failed to capitalise on that. He reflected that perhaps it was just as well his plan had failed: he had expected his room to have two beds like most of the other places they had stayed in, however, while Freddie apparently had a suite, Roger had a fairly modest room with one bed, albeit a large one. Roger thought that he was unlikely to have been able to persuade Crystal to share a bed for one night, let alone three. Anyway, it was too late now: Crystal was bound to have found somewhere else to sleep.

  
‘We simply can’t stay here all night drinking this swill, darlings!’ Freddie declared. ‘Let’s go back to my room and have a little soiree!’

  
Roger shrugged on his fur coat and followed Freddie and the others out on to the snowy street. Flakes of snow drifted lazily downwards. He shivered.

  
Everyone else seemed to have paired off: Freddie was linking arms with Phoebe, John was with Miami, and Brian was with a leggy red-head who had attached herself to him in the bar. Roger knew they would all include him if he went over to any of them (although Brian might be less than pleased) but inserting himself seemed too much effort. The only person he wanted, Crystal, was the only person not there and he felt a wave of loneliness engulf him.

  
*

  
‘Rog, go and see if anyone is lurking in the bar,’ Freddie commanded once they reached the hotel. ‘Round people up, bring them to me!’

  
Roger saluted and headed into the bar which he thought was deserted at first glance. Then he saw Crystal in a dark corner. Crystal was drowning his sorrows. Did he feel unwelcome in whatever room he had talked his way into?

  
He was a terrible person.

  
‘Crys!’ he called, ‘I thought you were going to bed early! You could’ve come out with us! Everyone’s heading to Freddie’s room....Crys?’

Was Crystal crying?

  
Shit.

  
Roger glanced around looking for an adult to take charge. The bar was completely empty apart from them.

  
Fuck.

  
He sat down next to Crystal and flung his arm around his shoulders. ‘What’s wrong? Is that your suitcase?’

  
‘Go to the party in Freddie’s room, Rog,’ Crystal sniffed, wearily.

  
Roger pulled Crystal into a proper hug. ‘Well, I can’t just leave you here. You wouldn’t leave me. Do you need somewhere to crash?’

  
Of course he did because Roger had cancelled his hotel room like the inconsiderate despicable fool he was.

  
Crystal nodded. ‘I’m so tired,’ he moaned.

  
‘C’m’on, then. I’ve got a room to myself, you can sleep there. I could do with an early night myself...’

  
*

  
It was a smaller room than Crystal had expected with only one bed which made the fragments of his broken heart twist anxiously inside him. The room had an uncomfortable looking sofa. ‘I’ll sleep on that,’ he offered, pointing at it. ‘Thanks, Rog.’

Roger shook his head. ‘You can’t sleep on that! It looks like an instrument of torture! The bed’s huge. There’s plenty of room. I promise I won’t molest you, Crys.’

‘This’ll be fine, honest.’ Crystal tried not to look longingly at the bed, resigned to another sleepless night on the sofa.  
‘Crystal, the bed is massive. We’ll practically be on the other side of the world from each other!’ Roger said. ‘I insist.’

  
In the end, Crystal had simply been too tired to argue and had collapsed into the bed. The grief and stress of the day had caught up with him and he had been dozing off even as Roger had clambered in to bed. Crystal sleepily thought he should brace himself for Roger planting cold feet on him and dimly registered surprise when Roger remained firmly over on his own side of the bed; surprise and slight disappointment.

  
*

  
Crystal was still asleep when Roger awakened. He had drifted back to consciousness to find his head resting on Crystal’s chest. He was about to slide away when felt Crystal stir and it was too late to move. He opted for a cheery greeting instead, as if them waking up snuggled together was the most natural thing in the world. And, in fact, it felt natural, Roger thought. This was where he belonged: nestled against Crystal. ‘Morning Crys. D’ya sleep well?’

  
‘Thanks,’ Crystal mumbled to Roger.

  
‘Couldn’t leave you to sleep on the sidewalk,’ Roger smirked. ‘It’s snowing out there.’

  
Crystal flinched as there was a thump on the door. ‘Rog? You awake? Time to get up!’ Brian yelled. The door handle rattled. Roger scrambled to his knees, looking down at Crystal. His fingers tangled with the buttons of Crystal’s black brushed cotton pyjama top. Roger felt cold again, although a moment earlier he had felt too hot, and he felt rather light-headed. He sensed an incipient headache. His head still felt fuzzy too.

  
‘Don’t worry, it’s locked,’ Roger murmured, before yelling, ‘Okay, mate, I’m up, thanks!’ He thought how lovely Crystal was: the planes and angles of his face forming something beautiful. He longed to run his fingers along Crystal’s jawbone and thought briefly of the vibraslap, a musical instrument derived from a time when jawbones had been used to create the same noise. Part of him wished he had not stolen those instruments: he felt it had caused a rift between him and Crystal.

  
‘Are you okay?’ Crystal was frowning up at him.

  
‘Sorry,’ Roger blushed. ‘I feel a bit spaced out. You can have first shower, if you like,’ he offered, in a bid to change the subject.

  
‘Nah, you go and get washed and see if that wakes you up a bit,’ Crystal suggested.

  
*

  
The shower hadn’t helped. Roger felt light-headed and nauseous as he followed Crystal into the breakfast room. He felt separated from everyone as if he was in a bubble that muffled everything. Words seemed to take a long time to reach him through his bubble. His whole body ached.

  
The bustle of the hotel restaurant brought him out of it a little. Freddie waved Roger over the second they entered the breakfast room. ‘What happened to you last night, dear?’ he demanded.

  
‘Found a damsel in distress in the bar,’ Roger replied with a wink. He had regretted it immediately as Crystal looked rather forlorn. He watched Crystal fetch coffee and chat to Freddie.

  
Crystal was on his way back over when Roger felt his legs crumple. ‘Oh,’ he murmured in surprise as the room faded away.

  
*

  
Roger hit the floor with a thud. Crystal put his coffee mug down on the nearest table and knelt next to him. ‘Roger? Can you hear me?’

  
Others began to crowd round. Freddie shooed people away. ‘Give him some space.’

  
‘Is he drunk?’ Brian sniffed.

  
‘I don’t think so, dear,’ Freddie replied, glancing at Crystal. ‘He retired to bed at a very respectable time last night, even if he wasn’t alone.’

  
‘Perhaps he has exhausted himself,’ John suggested.

  
‘I think he might have ‘flu’, actually,’ Crystal said. He held his hand under Roger’s head as he stirred, cupping Roger’s skull, ‘Rog?’

One big blue eye opened. ‘Roger, dear, you fainted,’ Freddie crouched next to him.

  
Roger groaned. ‘Aches,’ he whimpered.

  
‘What aches?’ Crystal asked gently.

  
‘Everything,’ Roger moaned.

  
Freddie stood up and moved back. ‘You think he might be contagious, dear?’ he asked Crystal.

  
Roger struggled into a sitting position. ‘Don’t feel good.’

  
‘Do you think you can stand up? Let’s get you back to bed...’ Crystal assisted Roger to his feet. Roger wobbled and Crystal put his arm around him.

  
Miami came over. ‘You’ll look after him? The others can do the interviews today and tomorrow is a rest day.’ He ruffled Roger’s hair. ‘Take care of yourself, trouble.’

  
*

  
The following morning, Crystal had left Roger sleeping and gone down to get some breakfast. Miami approached and asked how Roger was. ‘He’s pretty out of it, sleeping a lot, and he has quite a high temperature but nothing alarming.’

  
Miami nodded. ‘If you think he needs to see a doctor, or if you need anything, just let me know.’ He shuffled a little on his feet. ‘You don’t happen to know anything about some missing percussion instruments, do you?’

  
Crystal frowned. ‘Has some of our stuff gone walkabout?’ he asked innocently.

  
‘No,’ Miami said, ‘the support act from the other night have complained that some maracas and a vibration-something have gone missing. Apparently the maracas are very special to their drummer,’ Miami explained, ‘because they had been blessed, or something.’

  
‘Blessed maracas?’ Crystal grinned. ‘No, I haven’t heard anything about them.’

  
Miami nodded. ‘Ask Roger if he’s heard anything, if you get the chance.’

  
‘Sure,’ Crystal nodded. ‘I’d best get back to him.’

  
*

  
He should never have stolen the maracas, Roger thought dismally. A shaman had used them; had probably placed a curse on anyone who took them without consent. They could be used for healing, he thought, as well as divination so it made sense that the curse would involve contracting some sort of hideous plague that made you feel like you were dying. Perhaps he was actually dying.

  
He tried to explain this to Crystal. ‘It’s not the maracas, Rog,’ Crystal assured him. ‘Ratty has picked up ‘flu’ somewhere and given it to you and Ted the truck driver. If it was cursed maracas I’d be ill too, wouldn’t I?’

  
Roger supposed he had a point, but he wasn’t completely convinced. ‘’m dyin’, Crys,’ he whispered.

  
‘You’re not dying, drama queen,’ Crystal held a cup to his lips. ‘Drink,’ he commanded.

  
‘Feels like ‘m dyin’,’ Roger mumbled. He blinked back tears. Crystal must think him utterly pathetic.

  
*

  
Crystal was proud of Roger when, despite still feeling ill, he played their next show. While Roger had been ill and feverish he had been talking in his sleep and Crystal had discovered that Roger had cancelled his hotel room. He had been annoyed at first but he found it hard to stay angry with Roger for long.

  
Ratty, still pale and weak himself, wandered over and stood next to Crystal, watching Roger on stage. ‘If he feels like I did then that is pretty impressive.’

  
Crystal, who had needed to help his wobbly boss to his seat, nodded. ‘Its sheer bloody-mindedness,’ he said, ‘he should be in bed.’ He thought of the three nights he had spent with Roger nestled against him in bed. He was amazed he didn’t have ‘flu’ himself.

  
Roger was still recovering a couple of days later when Freddie threw the blessed, or perhaps cursed, magical stolen maracas into the crowd.

  
Roger had been close to tears.

  
Freddie had been unrepentant. ‘Perhaps they were never intended to be yours, darling.’

  
(By now, various stories were circulating about the mysteriously missing maracas amongst the band and the crew. To Crystal’s relief and often amusement, none of the stories were even remotely close to the truth.)

  
Roger sniffed dolefully. ‘I wanted to try using them as drumsticks.’

  
Freddie looked at Roger as if he were mad. Crystal could relate to that. ‘We’re not that poor, dearest!’

  
Roger sighed. ‘They do it in some symphony,’ he muttered vaguely. ‘I’d have liked to know what it sounded like; thought it might be interesting.’

  
Freddie looked unconvinced. ‘Well, never mind, darling, you’ve still got the other weird rattle thing.’

  
‘The vibraslap,’ Crystal and Roger said in unison.

  
‘Sounds delicious, darlings!’ Freddie winked and swirled away.

  
*

  
Once they had stolen the maracas and vibraslap Crystal had carefully recorded the serial numbers and makers of the instruments. It took many telephone calls, charged to Roger’s hotel rooms, but Crystal eventually tracked down a pair of maracas identical to the ones Freddie had released into the wild. When the tour reached New York he collected them.

  
He felt strangely nervous about giving them to Roger and put it off until after Queen’s last show in the city. Following his illness Roger had been quieter than usual and had not been going out much after shows. Crystal had thought Roger would go to the final New York show party thus allowing Crystal to put off presenting him with his gift for a little bit longer, but Roger announced he was going to get an early night instead.

  
Crystal was staying in the hotel room next to Roger’s and the rooms had connecting doors. He knocked rather hesitantly on the connecting door half hoping Roger would not answer. Roger opened the door immediately and grinned. ‘Coming in for a night-cap?’

  
‘Uh... I just wanted to give you this...’ The maracas were nestling in black velvet within an intricately carved rosewood box. Crystal thrust the box towards Roger.

  
Roger’s blue eyes studied him. ‘For me?’

  
Crystal nodded. His cheeks felt hot. He was blushing like a school-girl. ‘I mean, they haven’t been touched by a shaman, or anything, but...’ He shrugged.

  
Roger carefully opened the box. He ran his fingers over the maracas. ‘Thank you.’ His voice was choked with emotion. ‘You did this for me? Thank you so much, Crys, I love them.’

  
*

  
Part of Roger’s mind noted that this explained all the telephone calls Crystal had charged to his various hotel rooms over the last few weeks. When Roger had curiously tried one of the telephone numbers it had been for a music shop. (Roger always checked his hotel bills to see what Crystal and Freddie had decided to charge to him.)

  
Part of Roger’s mind thought that he loved Crystal but he could hardly tell him that.

  
He carefully set the box down on the bed and flung his arms around Crystal. ‘Thank you so much!’ he repeated.

  
‘Yeah, well, bit curious to hear how they sound instead of drumsticks,’ Crystal said gruffly.

  
*

  
Once they got back home Roger felt flat. He had replaced the adulation of the screaming crowds with his neighbours screaming at him when he practised. Too noisy; too much of a hippy; too unusually attired; too long haired, Roger was too wrong to fit in.

  
The constant activity and excitement of touring gave way to fractious recording sessions. There still didn’t seem to be any money available and Roger felt tired and disillusioned. He was a rock star, as he had always wanted to be, but it felt empty; hollow.

  
At the album launch party he got drunk. John was drunk too. They were sitting at the top of a grand staircase peering through the banisters to the screaming, baying party-goers in the hall below. ‘You could have any girl in that room,’ John slurred, ‘and normally you would but y’haven’t?’ It was a question.

  
‘There’s a man I want,’ Roger had confessed. ‘No one else compares.’

  
‘Who?’ John asked. He took a slug of red wine, which he was drinking out of a metal tankard.

  
Roger shook his head. ‘Someone I can’t have, Deaks, that’s who.’

  
John raised his tankard to him. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’

  
*

  
And in all honesty, Roger had thought John would be too drunk to remember the conversation. But if John did remember Roger knew he would never betray his confidence.

  
That was why it hurt so much when John told the others that Roger was secretly in love with a man during a row at one of the rehearsal sessions for their next tour. He had never dreamed John would tell anyone.

  
So he went to drown his sorrows. Then he was plunged into a new nightmare.

  
*

  
He had been struggling not to cry since he had stormed out of the rehearsal hall but during the attack (he found it hard to admit he had been raped even inside his own head; it made it too real, somehow, something that had happened to him rather than something that happened to other people) he found that he was determined not to cry. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

  
He had thought he might breakdown when the pretty kind-looking nurse spoke to him at the hospital. His voice had wobbled when he had explained what had happened to him.

  
Her expression had hardened. She made it clear to him that she believed his perverted tryst had got out of hand and that she didn’t think much of him for pretending he had been an unwilling participant.

  
The doctor had given him a lecture about unhealthy lifestyle choices. As the doctor had departed Roger heard him remark, ‘Absolutely disgusting,’ to the nurse, who had agreed in clipped tones.

  
He was disgusting; him, not what had been done to him. Roger had been determined not to cry then, either. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  
A different nurse asked if she could call anyone for him. He had desperately wanted Crystal. He had wanted Crystal since he had left the rehearsal room. He had a confused idea that hospitals only allowed you to call relatives. Your wife, say, rather than the male friend you were in love with. The nurse pointed out that he needed clean clothes. She wrinkled her nose as she said it, although he had washed by then, scrubbing himself in a cavernous institutional bathroom using soap that didn’t lather very well and smelt slightly antiseptic. He was wearing a hospital gown and felt very exposed. He had posed almost completely naked for band photographs but had never felt so vulnerable. He had been with the others then, of course, and no one had been judging him.

  
Crystal had the same surname as him. ‘C – Could you c – call my b – brother, please?’ he had whispered, giving her Crystal’s phone number.

  
Left alone, he huddled on the bed, drawing his knees up under his chin and tugging the gown over them as far as it would reach. He let his wet hair fall around his face. No one could see him now.

  
The cubicle curtains rattled open. Roger stayed huddled up. If he stayed still like this then no one could see him. The nurse announced that his brother was here. Roger felt a moment of confusion and almost told her he didn’t have a brother before he remembered he had claimed Crystal as family. Now Crystal would think he was crazy as well as pathetic for getting into such a mess.

  
He had wanted Crystal badly, and still did, but he also did not want Crystal to see him like this.

  
‘Roggie? It’s Crys,’ Crystal sounded gentle and Roger felt close to tears again. He needed Crystal. He did not want Crystal to see him like this.

  
‘We need the bed back as soon as possible, please,’ the nurse said. It was the first nurse, Roger thought, the one who had agreed with the doctor that he was disgusting. Crystal was saying something to her. The curtains rattled again. Had she gone? Had Crystal gone?

  
‘Rog? She’s gone,’ Crystal said, sounding worried. Roger slowly raised his head and looked at him.

  
Crystal gasped and a distant part of Roger’s brain registered that he probably didn’t look his best. Crystal moved a little closer. He didn’t seem obviously disgusted and Roger felt some of the tension leave him.

  
‘Brought your clothes, mate. Do you need a hand getting dressed? I think you’ve over-stayed your welcome with that nurse!’

Roger thought if he replied he would start to cry. He couldn’t do that. It was bad enough that he had dragged Crystal across town in the middle of the night he couldn’t expect him to look after him too, like a little child. He felt like a child. This was reinforced when Crystal said, ‘C’m’on, love, let’s get you sorted out.’

  
Crystal had never called him ‘love’ before. Roger decided he probably meant it as you would say it to an infant or a pet.

  
Crystal gently tugged at the hospital gown and Crystal had seen him getting changed often and Roger told himself he could do this. He pulled the gown off and Crystal gasped again. ‘You’re alright, darling, I’m here now....’

  
He could only possibly be Crystal’s darling as a frightened kitten might be, Roger thought. He would take that, though, he reflected. He would take any affection he could get at the moment.

  
He allowed Crystal to dress him. Crystal even tied his shoelaces. Roger felt numb.

  
‘There,’ Crystal said, ‘let’s get you home. My place, I think, for a few days.’

  
Roger had never been to Crystal’s home. He felt a rush of gratitude to Crystal, who was apparently prepared to look after him. And he needed to be looked after. He needed Crystal.

  
Crystal was getting the bag containing his soiled clothing out of the locker by the bed and Roger flushed with embarrassment. He realised that, at some point, he would have to confess to Crystal that he had wet himself (and worse) like an infant.

  
‘Come along then, lovely.’

  
Roger shivered as they stepped out into the cool night air. Crystal held out his hand and Roger seized it. Holding Crystal’s hand was the first positive physical contact Roger had received all day and he felt pathetically grateful for it. Crystal might be thinking of him as a hopeless child but he was kind and prepared to look after Roger and Roger was immensely grateful.

  
*

  
He had a long hot shower at Crystal’s place. The bathroom was much more human than the hospital one had been. Crystal had Pears soap and Vosene shampoo and these familiar scents were soothing.

  
He heard a knock on the door. ‘You okay in there, Roger?’

  
When he emerged, in his own pyjamas, which Crystal had brought from Roger’s own place plus a pair of woolly grey socks and an old, shapeless, woolly grey cardigan of Crystal’s, there was a mug of tea waiting for him. It was too sweet. For shock, Roger realised.

  
They sat at the table and sipped their tea. Crystal offered him a custard cream. Crystal never gave anyone a biscuit with their tea unless they had done something spectacular. Or, Roger reflected, if they were a whimpering child, apparently.

  
‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted out, ‘I didn’t mean to wake you; to put you to all this trouble. I just... I wet my knickers...’ To his horror, the sobs he had been holding back, some of them since he had fled from the rehearsal room, which seemed like the distant past now, burst out of him.

  
Crystal moved seats so that he was next to Roger. ‘Roger, can I hold you?’

  
Roger flung himself on to Crystal’s lap, clinging to him and howling onto his shoulder. ‘You’re safe now, I won’t let anyone hurt you,’ Crystal told him.

  
Roger whimpered that he wouldn’t have called but he had needed clean clothes. ‘I’m glad you called, angel,’ Crystal stroked his hair, ‘can you tell me about it?’

  
Roger found that he could tell Crystal about it; found that Crystal did not think he had done anything wrong. Roger knew he must have done something wrong, though, and this was his punishment.

  
‘It’s late,’ Crystal murmured, ‘why don’t you take the bed...’

  
Roger shook his head. ‘Would you mind holding me, please?’

  
‘Of course not,’ Crystal told him.

  
He had thought he would never stop crying but did eventually as he drifted off to sleep, cradled against Crystal.

  
*

  
Waking in an unfamiliar bed, aching all over, wasn’t an entirely new experience, but he did not usually hurt quite so much. The events of the previous day crashed down on him. The bed felt horribly empty. ‘Crys?’

‘I’m here, love,’ Crystal emerged from the kitchen. The kitchen was separated from the sitting-room by a bead curtain. The bedroom was separated from the seating area by a gauzy peach curtain. Only the bathroom had an actual door. The peach curtain was tied back so that, from the bed, Roger could see through to the kitchen. ‘Think you can eat something?’ Crystal asked.

  
*

  
Once Crystal had reluctantly accepted that Roger was determined to go to rehearsal he strapped Roger’s ribs. It felt curiously intimate. ‘Are you certain about this, lovely?’Crystal asked, frowning.

  
Roger nodded. He had to. Quite apart from anything else, he had to face the others. They would have to know and he was dreading that and he felt it was best to get it over with.

  
‘Promise you will tell me if it all gets too much or if you are in pain?’ Crystal requested and Roger had solemnly promised.

  
*

  
After he had fainted in a haze of pain in the rehearsal hall and Crystal had carried him out to the car, like a baby, Crystal reminded him of his promise. ‘I didn’t think I’d faint, sorry.’

  
Crystal tucked a blanket around him. The blanket had blue squares and orange circles. Crystal was orange, Roger thought: the steady reliable flame. Roger was the flash of blue flame: unpredictable. Complete combustion.

  
Crystal climbed into the driving seat and produced a pack of cigarettes. ‘Want one, love?’

  
Roger nodded, glad that he was still loved, apparently. Crystal seemed tense. He had closed the rehearsal room door in Freddie’s face, Roger recalled. Freddie would be seething. Roger had upset everyone. ‘Are you angry with me?’

  
Crystal said he was not angry. He also said he did not think Roger himself had upset everyone: they were upset because he had been stupid enough to put himself in a position where he got attacked: his punishment for being a bad person.

  
He thought he had imagined it when Crystal said he loved him. ‘Say that again, Crys?’

‘I love you,’ Crystal replied steadily, ‘I think I might have loved you from the moment I saw you.’

  
Roger felt a little flutter of excitement, a little glimmer of hope. ‘Even like this?’

  
‘Always.’

  
*

  
Roger had confessed he loved Crystal too.

  
Crystal had started the car and driven them home. Roger was too sore and exhausted to speak. Crystal eventually said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  
‘What for?’ Roger mumbled.

  
‘I should never have held your mouth shut after we stole the maracas,’ Crystal said. His voice sounded strained.

  
Roger felt confused initially, unsure what that had to do with anything and then realised Crystal was feeling guilty because of the bruises around Roger’s mouth, as if his actions the night they had stolen the maracas had given Roger’s attackers the idea of silencing him in the same way but with greater force. ‘’S okay, Crys, Brian does that to me all the time,’ he pointed out truthfully. Brian might feel guilty about that too, he thought. He felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him as he contemplated all of the things he might have to be aware of as his friends dealt with what had happened to him.

  
‘I shouldn’t have done it and I feel bad about it.’

  
‘Yeah, well, I forgive you. Still love you,’ Roger murmured. They lapsed back into silence.

  
*

  
Although Crystal had revealed his feelings first, it was Roger who instigated their first kiss.

  
The car had halted outside Crystal’s place. Crystal loped round and opened the passenger door to retrieve Roger, scooping him into his arms again. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to press a kiss to Crystal’s lips.

  
It was brief, just a peck on the lips, but it felt wonderful. ‘You’re carrying me over your threshold,’ Roger pointed out, as Crystal carried him inside. Roger worried that he was too heavy. ‘You’ll do your back in.’

  
‘You’re lighter than most of the equipment, love,’ Crystal assured him. ‘Let’s get you into bed...’

  
‘You’re very keen,’ Roger joked, ‘I’m not that kind of girl, you know!’ Then he felt anxious. He had a terrible reputation. And he had been used, damaged, because he was a tease.

  
Crystal carefully set him down on the bed but it still hurt, everything ached, some parts of his body were screaming at him. Crystal was stroking his hair. ‘You still with me, blondie?’

  
‘Hurts,’ Roger whimpered.

  
‘You need to eat something with your painkillers. Can you hang on for me while I heat up some soup for you?’

  
Roger could only grunt in response. He was vaguely aware of Crystal holding him in a sitting position, getting him to sip tomato soup. Crystal gave him painkillers with a glass of water. After a while, things became less sore and fuzzy. ‘I’m all sweaty,’ he murmured unhappily.

  
‘I’ll run you a bath,’ Crystal offered, ‘then you can have a nap, how does that sound?’

  
‘Like heaven.’

  
‘Okay... um... I’m gonna stay with you while you are in the bath, if that is okay?’ Crystal told him.

  
Roger nodded.

  
*

  
Crystal had helped Roger bathe, helped him into clean pyjamas, tied his hair back off his face and was looking forward to snuggling up with him and catching up on some much needed sleep when someone started hammering on the door.

  
‘Freddie,’ Roger murmured.

  
Crystal reflected that Freddie did not know where he lived so he did not see how it could be him. Then a furious, unmistakable, voice shouted, ‘I insist you let me in!’

  
Roger winced. ‘He’ll hurt his throat.’ He looked at Crystal. ‘They’ll all be there. Does Ratty know your address?’

  
Crystal sighed. ‘Yeah, damn him!’

  
‘He won’t have had much choice,’ Roger sighed. ‘You’d best let ‘em in. They won’t go away.’ He caught Crystal’s sleeve as Crystal began to rise from the bed. ‘Please, Crys, I can’t be in bed...’

  
Crystal lifted him gently and carried him to an armchair. He tucked the blanket from the car around Roger.

  
‘You can’t keep Roger a prisoner!’ Freddie was shrieking. ‘We belong together!’

  
‘Could you let them know I don’t want to talk about.... it....?’ Roger requested.

  
‘Sure. I’ll remind them they can’t touch you without consent too?’

  
Roger nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  
Freddie sounded like he might be kicking the door. ‘Let me in! Let me in! Let me in!’

  
Crystal opened the door a crack and Brian immediately planted his foot in the door so he could not close it again. Roger had been correct: they were all there.

  
‘You can’t keep him from us!’ Brian growled.

  
Crystal glanced at John but quickly realised that although he was the least vocal he was possibly the most distressed. None of them looked particularly likely to be reasonable.

  
‘You shut the door in my face, you jumped up little shit!’ Freddie fumed. ‘I employ you!’

  
‘Be quiet,’ Crystal ordered. He did not raise his voice. They obediently shut up. Brian and Freddie looked sulky. John looked torn between crying and screaming.

  
‘These are the rules,’ Crystal began.

  
‘You don’t get to make rules!’ Freddie scoffed.

  
‘You are about to enter my home,’ Crystal reminded him, quietly, ‘having already upset my neighbours; the same neighbours Roger and I have to live next to. I most certainly do get to make rules in my own home.’ He was satisfied to see Freddie look a little bit embarrassed.

  
‘These are the rules,’ Crystal repeated. ‘Firstly, Roger does not want to talk about the attack. Secondly, you must not touch him without his consent. Finally, if you upset him, or if I feel he has had enough, then I expect you to leave at once, with no arguments, if I ask you to.’

  
He looked at each of them in turn, giving them the same stare he gave to junior crew members if they had fucked something up. ‘Do you all agree to abide by my rules?’

  
‘We do!’ John said quickly.

  
Brian and Freddie nodded, rather sulkily.

  
‘Please do come in, then...’ Crystal stood aside and let them enter.

  
*

  
As far as Roger was concerned they had covered everything that had needed to be covered back at the rehearsal hall. They’d had a row; Roger had stormed out; Roger had been foolish enough to get attacked; the band had felt bad about the row and the attack and they had all hugged him. End of story. Yet here they all were trooping into Crystal’s sitting room.

  
He assumed he still didn’t look great as Freddie gasped, ‘Oh, darling!’ and lunged towards him. Roger flinched.

  
John seized Freddie’s arm, hauling him backwards, furiously hissing, ‘Were you listening at all? Sit down!’

  
Freddie had frozen, staring at Roger. ‘You let Crystal braid your hair.’

  
Roger gulped. ‘I... I... Crystal is the person I was in love with, the one I told Deaky about. And it turns out that he likes me, too. So we... we are a couple...?’ He glanced anxiously at Crystal.

  
‘That’s right,’ Crystal agreed, ‘I love you and we are a couple. Now would anyone like tea?’

  
There was an awkward silence while he made tea. He put some chocolate digestive biscuits on a plate although they did not really deserve biscuits, as they knew if Brian’s raised eyebrow when he dumped the plate on the coffee table in front of them was anything to go by. They were squashed together on the sofa clutching their mugs of tea and Crystal perched on the arm of Roger’s chair. The uncomfortable silence persisted.

  
‘Why are you here?’ Roger asked wearily. ‘I mean, I love y’all but I saw you like, an hour ago.’

  
Brian automatically glanced at his watch and opened his mouth, presumably to correct Roger about how much time had elapsed since they had left the rehearsal hall. ‘You know what I mean, Brimi,’ Roger said.

  
‘We are here because you belong with us!’ Freddie cried. ‘You are one of us and we need to put you back together!’

  
‘He’s not broken,’ Crystal was rather surprised that he had said that immediately and firmly. He had thought Roger sounded broken in the car: it was partly why he had told Roger he loved him. Yet now, as he stated that Roger was not broken, he realised he meant it. Crystal was broken; his heart a whirling storm of glass fragments. Roger was more like a flame, he thought, perhaps not burning as brightly as usual but still smouldering at the very least. There was still a spark there. Roger’s flame was not extinguished.

  
*

  
Roger felt a bit broken, he thought. He had left something of himself in the alley and was afraid some of the missing pieces might be vital. He didn’t think the others could put him back together; he’d be the frustrating jigsaw puzzle with the crucial bits no longer in the box.

  
‘I think I might be a bit broken, Crys,’ he ventured.

  
Crystal shook his head. ‘Nah, you’re not, mate. You’re alright.’

  
He sounded very sure. Roger wanted to believe him.

  
Perhaps sensing that Roger still doubted him, Crystal added, ‘You will be alright, Rog. You just need to get back to full strength.’

  
‘Well, that is exactly what I just said!’ Freddie cried indignantly.

  
‘It’s lovely of you to want to fix me or strengthen me or whatever,’ Roger told them, ‘but maybe not today, eh? P’r’aps I could just... sleep?’

  
‘We only want to help,’ Brian sounded slightly offended.

  
‘I know,’ Roger assured him, ‘and I’m grateful, really, but I’m also bloody exhausted.’

  
He was glad when they took the hint and left.

  
Later, in bed with Crystal he had rather anxiously suggested that Crystal deserved better. ‘You should have someone whole and perfect.’

  
‘You are whole,’ Crystal told him, ‘and you are perfect for me.’

  
*

  
Miami had arrived apologetically the following morning. ‘He’s asleep,’ Crystal had stated bluntly when he opened the door.

  
‘Perhaps that is just as well,’ Miami said. He offered Crystal the bundle of newspapers he was clutching. ‘I’m afraid the press have found out from some snitch at the hospital. I was contacted for a comment. Normally I would have run it past Roger but there was no time. I have made it clear that he was attacked and raped as that was not exactly the story the press seemed to be running and they are at least reporting that.’

  
‘Fuck,’ was Crystal’s response. ‘Come in...’

  
‘Crys?’

He turned and saw a groggy, tousle-headed Roger behind him, clutching the blanket from the car around himself. ‘Go back to bed, love.’

  
Roger shook his head. ‘Everyone knows?’ he asked Miami in a small voice.

  
‘Yes. I’m so sorry.’ Miami stepped inside and Crystal shut the door. ‘Did you hear all of that?’

  
Roger nodded. ‘I... My Mum and sister...’

  
‘I took the liberty of calling you mother to warn her,’ Miami said. ‘I didn’t have much time to deal with the situation. I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t have wanted her to find out from me. She is going to speak to your sister.’

  
Roger hugged him. ‘Thank you so much! I’m sorry to have caused you so much work!’

  
‘You haven’t. It’s alright. Everything is going to be alright...’ Miami stroked Roger’s hair. ‘At least the press don’t know you’re here.’

  
Crystal nodded. ‘You are safe here, love.’ He flushed as Miami looked questioningly between them.

  
‘Me and Crys are a couple,’ Roger mumbled to Miami.

  
‘Good,’ Miami said firmly, ‘congratulations.’

  
*

  
Once Miami had gone Crystal held Roger through tearful telephone conversations with his mother and then his sister. Roger told both of them about his relationship with Crystal. Both were supportive.

  
Crystal called his own mother later, once Roger was sleeping. She was very quiet for a long time when he told her he was in a relationship with Roger. Crystal thought he should have told her face to face. He wondered if she was mourning the sudden loss of the grandchildren she had always expected one day. ‘As long as you’re happy, dear,’ she said eventually.

  
*

  
The press flocking around Roger’s own place gave him a good excuse to stay with Crystal which Roger was strangely grateful for. He felt at home with Crystal.

  
The swarms of journalists and photographers around the rehearsal hall were overwhelming. The band, Miami, Ratty and Phoebe had formed a protective barrier around Roger, who was clamped firmly to Crystal’s side, as they moved between the car and the hall and vice versa. Roger kept his eyes down and tried to block out the shouts and camera flashes.

  
‘Roger! Over here, Roger!’

  
‘Do you like rough sex Mr. Taylor?’

  
‘Roger, is it true you were at an orgy?’

  
‘Roger, why do you claim to have been raped?’

  
*

  
It was something of a relief to leave on tour. The press overseas seemed more interested in their music than in the attack, although Miami carefully made sure Roger was always with at least one of the others for any public appearances or interviews and any line of questioning about the assault was immediately shut down.

  
Crystal was often busy doing his own job while Roger was off doing his and he found himself anxiously wondering how Roger was getting on every time they were separated. He would have liked to have been watching over Roger constantly, but was also worried about stifling him and being over-protective. When he had mentioned this to Roger he had discovered that Roger was concerned about being too clingy; too much of a burden. Roger’s recovery and their relationship were both gradual processes, he thought.

  
*

  
Roger was nestled sleepily against Crystal in a hotel room that had seen better days. ‘Ratty said something weird today,’ he murmured.

  
‘Yeah?’ Crystal twirled a lock of Roger’s hair around his finger.

  
‘Something about you comparing me to lasagne?’ Roger frowned.

  
Crystal was going to fucking kill Ratty. ‘I have no idea what he is talking about.’

  
‘He said you would say that,’ Roger mused, ‘He said something about me being multi-layered? If you are comparing me to cheese sauce, Crys, then that is too much like that awful lyric of Brian’s...’

  
‘Ratty is a fucking bastard,’ Crystal muttered. ‘It’s a béchamel sauce, babe,’ he added, which had represented a softer, sweeter side of Roger with white for purity, if he recalled correctly. He sighed. ‘I may have been drunk and I may have said something along those lines but I really can’t remember it.’

  
Roger grinned. ‘Did it boil down to: Roger is tasty?’

  
Crystal grinned too. ‘You are a big-headed annoying brat.’

  
‘But you love me?’

  
‘I can’t imagine why, but yes, I do.’

  
They kissed. The glass fragments inside Crystal seemed to chime softly and in that moment Crystal felt that no matter what happened things would be okay as long as they had each other.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! :) I would love to know your thoughts.


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